


sing to me & i will forgive you.

by egoswollen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, killian sings a lot !!!!!!, mention of suicide, really short chapters b/c i didn't know where to stop woops, regina is the diva f ite m e, sorta musical-y?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egoswollen/pseuds/egoswollen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>inspired by the fictional musical hit list.</p><p>killian jones' life was as dull as life could be for a bartender with a penchant for songwriting.<br/>that is until one emma swan steals his music and becomes a pop sensation from it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sing to me & i will forgive you.

**Author's Note:**

> as i've said, i borrowed this awesome plot from the fictional musical hitlist from nbc's smash which was taken from us too soon :c
> 
> hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as i said, i borrowed the plot from the fictional musical hitlist from the tv show smash, which was taken from us much too soon :c
> 
> this was written for my own sanity, but i figured i'd share it! hope someone enjoys it at least half as much as i enjoyed writing it.

This only would happen in a big city. New York sheltered so many broken souls like his; broken hearts, broken dreams, broken arms trapped in subway doors, you name it! It was inevitable for some in the millions of people to crack further than they can handle.

Did they even know of suicide in small towns? He wouldn't know, having been trapped on the wrong side of the East River most of his life, only daring to dream of make it across. Killian had always figured there weren't any tall building to jump from, bridges to hang necks from, and the the ear-shattering firing of guns simply destroyed the whole concept of a sleepy little town, so he reckoned people knew nothing else but being happy and, well, alive.

It was not surprising to find her sitting on the railings of the pier. What took him aback was the pair of piercing green eyes that flash at him once she realized his approaching steps. And just like that, he was mesmerized; not bothered enough to let her know that this was his quiet place, that she ought to get her own. No words were exchanged but there was a tragic story shared between glances, one he understood she was intent on ending tonight.

The air was cold as it entered his throat. The realization of her intentions saddened him to an extend he didn't know he was capable. He had never been what some would call empathetic. Killian minded his own business and didn't pry in other's. He shouldn't care if some pretty blonde was about to commit suicide from his favorite spot in his extremely limited world. What he should do is turn around and pretend he hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary.

Croaky syllables uttered in failed persuasion. He had always been disobedient, apparently, even with himself. “Don't do it.” He said with a step forward, the guitar hanging on his back following his movements, but she didn't look back at him. Her eyes seemed to be focused on the moving river below, not yet solid, but freezing all the same. She'd perish of dreadful hypothermia were she to actually jump.

He really shouldn't care! It was none of his business. But it was too late for him to pretend this hadn't occurred. He feared that he would regret doing nothing. He worried it might haunt him, like a ghost. (Like Liam's ghost. Or Milah's). Killian couldn't afford another lost soul on his account.

 

Besides, eyes like that could not be easily forgotten.

It happened fast, in spur of the moment, he plucked the strings in his guitar, surprised by the volume of the chords. He had once (it seemed like ages ago) been in her shoes. Though too coward to actually see it through, he understood. Maybe, she would listen.

**_“Over, I can't believe it's over,_ **   
**_I can't believe the love I've left_ **   
**_To show some other day_ **   
**_Listen, I hope that you can hear me_ **   
**_As I kneel down and pray_ **   
**_With the love I meant to say.”_ **

* * *

Her name was Leia Nolan, she let him know a few hours later in the bar he worked at. Daughter of number 19 of the wealthiest corporative business partner-couples in the city (Killian hadn't known a thing such as partner-couples existed, much less that there were more than 19 of them) who apparently hated their child enough to name her after a character in the Star Wars franchise.

She preferred her middle name, Emma, though no one ever asked and she was perpetually stuck with the extraterrestrial princess jokes.

“I'll call you Emma.” She chuckled. He could have sworn it was melodious.

“What should I call you, then?”

“Killian's fine.”

“ _That_ , he is.”

He simply laughed. (It had felt so right to give out his real name for once, no longer involved in growing debts with dealers or afraid of being caught with stolen possessions. Not that he'd tell her, she would flee as soon as she got the chance.) 

* * *

 

It cost him two rum and cokes, one vodka tonic and a pint of beer for her to share the reasoning behind her earlier attempt. “I want to be famous.” Emma told him when he asked,

“I want people to hear my voice.”

“And naturally drowning yourself in a freezing river will help you achieve that.”

“Maybe.” The humorous intonation surprised him, specially when it was replaced by the most heartbreaking sigh in the world. “All I keep hearing is I have nothing to say.” _Maybe I'd be more interesting if I were dead_ is what she doesn't say, but he heard it regardless.

Normally, he'd think she is a spoiled brat, a poor little rich girl. But he doesn't.

“I've got plenty of stories to spare.” He said, and it almost sounded like an invitation.

* * *

 

One thing led to another and they ended up in his apartment, perched over his piano. Self-taught and proud, Killian played a song of crude reality. (Otherwise known as his autobiographical struggle.)

**_“There's a block at the edge of this town no one talks about._ **   
**_Where the train doesn't stop and the kids know they're not getting out...”_ **

Closing his eyes now, he can remember the devious glance she gave him before feverishly pressing her lips to his. His fingers left the piano keys to roam from her waist to neck, one hand stopping on her hair. Their mouths moved in sink, almost as if dancing to the tune he had just sung, only ever parting when ripping away clothing.

Not even when they were panting out of breath did they pry away from each other.

That is, until morning (which is an _entirely_ different story).


End file.
